An LCC Award Nominee for best mystery
A Harry Bronson Mystery
Sequel to:WHEN COLETTE DIED
Chapter One
Two words described Dan Springer’s mission.
Simple.
Deadly.
He must rescue the teen everyone called Young Greg Prickett or die trying. No other choices existed. His only regret stemmed from having to drag Marcos along.
Dan looked out the car’s window into the bright sun of Las Vegas. He could use some of that light in his life just about now. He drew a deep breath. No use postponing the inevitable. He turned toward the passenger seat. "You ready to give the best performance of your life?"
"Yeah. Yeah. Yeah. Marcos dusted some lint off his light blue polo shirt. "I can’t believe I let you talk me into this. He pulled the visor down and studied his reflection.
"Don’t worry. If I didn’t know better, I’d swear you were a blond."
Marcos hand reached for the wig he wore and stroked it. "Yeah? What about the bandage?"
"It’s white and it covers most of your face."
"Like duh."
"Then why did you ask?"
"I didn’t ask. I just . . . Marcos once more dusted some lint, this time off his blue jeans.
"Stop worrying. Your part is simple. All you’ve got to do is pretend you’re in pain. "I’m so frickin afraid, I am in pain. Marcos formed a fist and pounded it against his thigh.
Dan flashed Marcos what he hoped resembled an encouraging smile. "Me, too, buddy. Me, too, but don’t fret. Each part of the plan should work."
"Should work. Marcos shook his head and threw his arms up in the air. "Did you have to say should?"
"Okay, will. Is that better? It will work. Dan grew desperate with the slow poke in front of him. He sped around him. "Drivers who can’t keep up with the traffic flow have no business on the freeways."
"He’s probably too busy looking at The Strip, Marcos said. "People always tend to slow down in this area."
"Probably so. Dan glanced past the passenger’s window and briefly caught sight of the tail end of the famous Las Vegas Strip. During daylight hours, the towering buildings competed for attention, but during the night, these same edifices thrived and shone with thousands of neon lights adding to the glitter that made Las Vegas famous. But right now they stood only as big, tall structures. Nobody in his right mind would slow down for that poor of a view, but why argue? Dan thought.
"What makes you think your plan is going to work? Marcos adjusted the bandages so he could speak better.
"I’ve checked and double-checked for glitches and am as prepared as I’ll ever be. He smiled, nodded, and wished he could feel as confident as he hoped he sounded. He stepped on the accelerator and pushed the forest-green Honda CRV five miles past the speeding limit. The last thing he needed was for a policeman to stop him. Yet, the anxiety to get this over with gnawed at him. His insides tightened when he spotted his exit.
For the last couple of nights, Dan had driven this route and had memorized every curb, every light, and every stop sign past the freeway. He knew which cars should be there and which ones didn’t belong. Now, as he drove the route for the last time, every muscle, every nerve he had, focused on his surroundings.
He noticed two new cars, but both were empty and offered no threat. Still, he made mental notes and kept on driving at a slower speed. No one seemed to notice him.
He executed a right turn and Bloomer Palace, as the Las Vegas residents called it, filled his entire front view.
"Man, that’s one heck of a big house. Marcos let out a whistle. "I read somewhere that it occupies three city blocks, but it seems much larger than that."
"Mmhm. Dan focused on the task at hand. He turned into the driveway that led to an iron fence covered with ivy. Beyond it, the vast, well-groomed lawn contrasted to with the surrounding desert flora. He rolled down the window and smiled at the approaching guard, a youth probably in his early twenties. What he lacked in age, Dan figured he compensated with physical strength and, if that weren’t enough, the concealed weapon he probably carried would serve its purpose.
Dan smiled. "I’m here at Mr. Bloomer’s request, I’m-"
"Dan Springer. The guard finished the sentence. "Top reporter for Star World Magazine. That much I know. What’s important here is who’s the medical case?"
"Marcos Sandoval, my photographer."
The guard pointed to his list. "Doesn’t say nothing here about no bloody photographer, only you."
"And how am I supposed to do a photo story on Bloomer’s new restaurant without a photographer?"
The young man’s eyes narrowed as though contemplating the question.
"Look, call Bloomer if that’s what you need to do-just hurry. I’m working against a deadline."
Outwardly, Dan didn’t react, but inside he let out a tremendous sigh of relief.
"What’s the matter with him? The guard pointed at Marcos. "Why is he bandaged?"
Dan waved and followed the long, sweeping driveway. "We’re in."
Marcos slumped in his seat. "Don’t remind me."
Dan focused his attention on the two-story, red-bricked, and white-pillared structure looming before him. It reminded him of a house straight out of Gone With the Wind. He had expected the design to be either Spanish or modern, but Bloomer never did the expected. Why would his home be different?
Dan admired the imitation southern plantation mansion that attempted to intimidate by its design. Only the rich, the powerful, the famous passed through its portals. The field slaves, the group to which he belonged, could only watch from the outside with awe and envy.
Apprehension tightened around his chest as he rang the bell and waited. A matronly dark-skinned woman answered the door. She wore a simple, solid brown dress that made her seem more of a guest than an employee. Other than the gold loops on her ears, she wore no other jewelry.
"I’m Dan Springer from Star World Magazine. He nodded backwards. "This is my photographer, Marcos Sandoval. Mr. Bloomer is expecting us. He handed her a business card.
She accepted it without looking at it. Must be the trademark of a good housekeeper. Dan made a mental note to ask the next maid he’d hire what she would do when someone handed her a business card.
The maid stepped back and opened the door wider. "Follow me. She led them down the corridor to the right, pointed to the second door to their left, and motioned them in. "Wait here."
The study, like the rest of the mansion, reeked with elegance. Two walls housed books ceiling to floor. Centered against the wall facing the door, a massive fireplace competed for attention. Above its mantle hung an original Van Gogh he recognized from a previous article he had written. The name of the painting, however, eluded him. Naturally.
Leather chairs, strategically placed, invited the visitor to come in and read one of the many leather-bound books.
Dan and Marcos had just sat down when a petite brunette stepped in. She wore a tight red jumpsuit that revealed every curve she had. Dan recalled how a recent gossip column mentioned that every Las Vegas showgirl envied those curves. He had thought that to be an exaggeration. Now he agreed.
She wore her collar up, adding a touch of elegance to her regal posture.
Dan rose.
"Hi, I’m Barbara Bloomer. You must be Dan Springer. She eyed Marcos.
"Yes. Dan offered her his hand. "This is my photographer, Marcos Sandoval."
Dan’s partner remained seated but raised his arm and waived.
"You must excuse him. He went to the dentist this morning, and the doctor put that contraption on him to keep his jaw from moving. He can’t talk, but he can take one hell of a picture."
"My sympathies, Mr. Sandoval. Barbara moved toward him.
Marcos nodded an acknowledgment.
While Barbara took her time to study Marcos with open candor, Dan eyed her. The pictures he’d seen of her certainly didn’t do her justice. They captured a beautiful face and a great body, but they failed to capture her essence. "We’re here to talk to your father about his new restaurant."
"Then I’m afraid you came for nothing. My father wants everything to be authentic Italian, so he flew to Italy. He will be back in a few days."
Dan frowned, hoping to look put out. "Great. There goes my deadline. He directed his gaze at Marcos. "Sorry I dragged you out."
The photographer shrugged and took his time getting up. He grunted, as if in pain.
Barbara signaled for him to sit back down and turned to Dan. "You don’t need to talk to my father. It’s my idea, and I’ll be running the place. She paused for effect. Had Dan been a teacher, he would have given her an A+ for performance. Two could play the game. He remained silent.
"Who do you think authorized your name at the gate? It certainly wasn’t good ol dad."
Dan feigned surprise as the first part of his plan fell into place. While he waited for her to continue, he recalled how his unknown source had assured him Barbara would be easy pickings. "Play your cards right. She’ll lead you to Young Greg Sanders. All you’ve got to do is make sure you talk to her."
Hoping to bring her into his confidence, Dan smiled. "Well, this is a nice turn of events. He retrieved a small spiral notebook and a tape recorder. "Mind if I use this?"
"Go ahead."
Dan turned on the recorder and leaned back. "I am told that Prado will be like no other restaurant in the world. Can you tell me why?"
Half an hour later, he turned off his tape recorder and put his spiral notebook and pen away. The easy part had come to an end.
Part two of his plan would determine its success.
It could also lead to his and Marcos’s death.
End of Chapter One
